


I Worship and Adore

by AlluringMary



Series: Seed Family - Soulmate AUs [2]
Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5, Far Cry: New Dawn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gender-neutral Reader, M/M, Other, Reader-Insert, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, pre-game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlluringMary/pseuds/AlluringMary
Summary: “You,” He speaks, “who steps on our soil, what is your business here?”If it wasn't for the fact you'd just been charged at by a fucking caribou, and still heaving against your car--you'd have lost it. However, the man huffs and raises his chin. “Did you not hear me? You stand on sacred land.”He spoke the words, the words scribbled in awful chicken scratch that runs along the underside of your arm. And before you can compute, you turn quick to anger.
Relationships: Captain of Security/Ethan Seed, Ethan Seed (Far Cry)/Reader, Ethan Seed/Reader
Series: Seed Family - Soulmate AUs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138463
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	I Worship and Adore

**Author's Note:**

> He needs a shave, to be humbled and a good slap across the face, but I still like him.

To be fair, it was partially your fault.

Kim would never say it aloud but you knew your experiments with what little working technology and scarce ethanol at your disposition acted like a siphon on Prosperity's resources. Predictably, you'd gone further and further in search of available scraps--enough to bitch and curse from afar when you saw new Edeners pile and burn a perfectly working fridge.

Who the fuck even does that?

The point is, it's partially your fault because you got greedy.

The truckbed's already loaded with scrap metal and a half-full container of ethanol, but it wasn't quite enough. You'd strayed further North, steering clear off any too-traveled paths, scouring some ways away from direlict houses, broken and overrun with vegetation. The search had been good, great even but you hadn't turned back for Prosperity, instead investigating anything that shone under your flashlight and any electronics that so much looked like it could spit out some juice.

You heard it then, while you flipped a scuffed mp3 player in your hands, a loud, drawn out wail. It sounded distinctly animal but the sheer volume and distress that rang with it froze you still. The night had been quiet so far and taken off guard, you'd cried out, startled.

As if ripped straight from a nightmare, the same terrible cry resounded from the woods, with it this time, the thundering of hooves on the forest floor. You actually intend to turn tail when from your peripheral, you see the dark frame appear from the edge of the woods. Something twists inside your guts, time slows to a crawl as the outline of the caribou takes the form of one.

In a second, the overgrown beast tears at leaves and branches with its antlers, dismissing all vegetation around it as it runs--runs straight for you, head bowed and mutated, crimson antlers lowered to impale.

Your hand loosens around the mp3 player as your boots dig into the dirt, seeking purchase before you run towards the car. The animal bellows in fury, the force of its cries slamming into your chest, sending your heart pounding and your step faltering. The beast stomps past you, the very ground shaking under its weight.

You meet the ground hands first, the drag of the dirt burning into your palms. You feel your shoulder and head bash into your car's tire, feel warmth pooling under your skin. Dazed, you watch as the animal staggers to a halt, panting and shakes its head. There's a trail of blood in the caribou's wake, one that snakes up one of its hind leg and leads to a thin arrow poking out of its rear end.

Oh. New Edeners.

They hunt at night, using it like a cloak to avoid you 'sinners' and 'outsiders'. They don't speak unless it is in between themselves or if they actively need you to get out of their way.

You see the mediocre hunter creep in the corner of your eye, dressed in tan furs with a tight grip on an archaic looking bow. The man peeks over a bush, even through the thick cover of darkness, you can spot him drawing the bowstring back. You seek the man's eyes in the darkness just as the caribou grunts and turns. It lifts its head and fixes bloodshot eyes onto your huddled form.

Before it can charge again, the creature lets out a gurgling yelp and collapses on its front legs. The head of the arrow newly lodged into its thick neck pokes out on the other side, splattering blood along its fur.

The creature cries and flails, spitting blood and kicking its hooves on the forest floor. Even choking around the arrow, its grunts are harsher than your breathing and just as pitying. As each second passed, the thing stopped its maddening descent, growing tired from both its struggle and wounds. In mere seconds that felt far longer, the beast stopped moving, sprawled on a flank in the dirt.

A moment passed in nigh silence, the only noises being the phantom of the caribou's dying cries ringing in your ears.

The bushes rustle with the New Edener's approach, the man parts the greenery around him to come through, in a rapid movement stringing his bow over his torso. In the dark, you can't properly see his face but spot easily the cautious, taut line of his shoulders.

“You,” He speaks, “who steps on our soil, what is your business here?”

If it wasn't for the fact you'd just been charged at by a fucking caribou, and still heaving against your car--you'd have lost it. However, the man huffs and raises his chin. “Did you not hear me? You stand on sacred land.”

He spoke the words, the words scribbled in awful chicken scratch that runs along the underside of your arm. And before you can compute, you turn quick to anger.

“What?” You spluttered instead. “You almost got me killed and you're the one complaining?”

He frowns, and you immediately notice his scruffy appearance. He staggers, mouth gaping before closing and reopening like a fish out of water. You hope his reaction is only due to your astonishing comeback and not because you've spoken his words.

Finally, he settles on--“You are trespassing.”

“And you're a shit shot!”

“I saved your life, sinner!”

“Hey, this is all your fault! You couldn't even kill that thing properly!”

“It's a caribou.”

“I know that...”

The New Edener doesn't start for the animal carcass, and you stay seated. You're not sure, maybe..? You'd always suspected the words could originate from one of the new age 'peggies' your parents abhorred, it had been a constant point of tension with them, even until sickness took them.

The New Edener, who you can now clearly see could use a good shave, and maybe a haircut, stares you down.

“Did you... huh, did you say--'you who...'”

“I can't remember.” He clenches his jaw, “You told me, that I almost...” His hand tenses at his side, and you watch as he subconsciously rubs the inside of his wrist against his upper thigh.

“What... you almost got me killed and--”

“What? You almost got me killed and you're the one complaining.” The half of your soul finishes ruefully, words dripping with something you can't quite pinpoint.

You wince, having a warning against trespassing on your skin was bad enough, but having that written on him mustn't have been easy. Gingerly, you get back to your feet, rubbing at your shoulder. It feels stiff and strangely warm where you collided with the metal. 

You wait in an uneasy silence for a beat, you consider hitching up your sleeve, maybe ask him to bear his mark. But your little fantasy is quickly blown by his snort. “A sinner... of all things.”

Oh right, New Edeners.

You bend over to pick up your discarded flashlight, hitting it with the flat of your palm is more than enough for it to turn back on. Upset, you mock, “A peggie... of all things.”

The peggie in question squints at the light, but doesn't say another word. You cast the light on the ground, unsure of your next course of action. You should head on back, maybe Carmina would still be up and partial to sneak a beer with you. Who knows, maybe Panther would still be around and ready to blow shit up, no questions asked.

The light catches on the player you'd dropped earlier, now a mess of plastic and electronics after being crushed by the caribou. Great. And you're pretty sure you could have salvaged some of its parts too.

Maybe if you hadn't gotten choked up and yelped like a fucking child, you wouldn't have attracted that dumb animal and the New Edener. Yeah, but still it's only partially your fault.

“What does, err, Seed think about that? Soulmates, our situation, I mean.”

The image of the scarred, tattooed man is only a faint one. He had come to preach to your community when you had been a child, most adults and children from your old settlement had died from radiation poisoning that year after seeking resources worth trading in the more severely irradiated zones. If it hadn't been that, then it was because of food shortages, bad water, the odd fever...

Your father had gripped you tight around the shoulder, pushed you behind his leg when Seed had turned his attention to the children. You didn't quite remember how many, but people did willingly leave alongside him and his Chosen after it was over. They had left food for the rest of you who stayed behind and you'd cried and screamed for days afterward--no one would even touch the offering of fruit and meat. It had all been left to rot in the sun while you and the other children fell asleep on empty stomachs.

Since all you could clearly remember was the wasted food, you didn't quite know what Seed had talked about. After his departure, he had left a weight, something oppressive you couldn't quite explain then. People hated him, for the death and pain he'd caused from before the Collapse but he had seemed nice, almost... forgiving in a way.

But what would he think of a sinner corrupting one of his flock?

The man without a name frowns again, sighs through his nose. After a moment, he says, “No matter their past, their origins, souls are meant to reunite, they were created to mesh. For none of us live solely for ourselves, and none of us die solely for ourselves, our souls were knit together. The Father believed it to be one of God's most generous offerings. One worth honoring.”

You think on it for a moment, unsure whether to find the implication of a possible relationship relieving or terrifying. You're only half paying attention to what he's doing until your soulmate kneels by the animal start slicing its neck. Blood spurts onto the ground as the knife glides under the fur. Wait. “Believed?”

“He's dead.”

Seed is dead? That shocks you into silence, so bizarre it is to even think about. Your childhood memories must be playing tricks on you--he had seemed unshakable surrounded by his men, even while being shouted down by the adults.

And for him to leave his people, who hangs on his every words?

“I'm sorry, this can't be easy for you.”

Another bout of silence settles in, although it's interrupted by the wet squelch of blood and meat being carved away.

The silence stretches on some more before he turns, where he's still slicing away at the beast's neck and offers with a tentative smile, like he can't quite figure out which one to address you with. “My name's Ethan.” And then Ethan promptly cuts away through the rest of the caribou's neck and drops its head at his side.


End file.
